


On My Radar

by sprinkle_of_cinnamon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky "Murder Cat" Barnes, But actually Steve is an endearing mess, Clint Barton is basically an actual bird, Dorito Steve Rogers Appreciation, F/M, Humor, Literally this prompt was "shoulders", M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Pepper Potts is an angel, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Snarky Tony, Steve sings Aretha in the shower pass it on, Why are Britney Spears lyrics always so relevant?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinkle_of_cinnamon/pseuds/sprinkle_of_cinnamon
Summary: The Winter Soldier first noticed it when he was on the helicarrier.
The blonde’s shoulders were broad, incredibly broad.
They stretched the blue uniform in a wide span, drawing down to a narrow waist. It was a distinctly triangular silhouette. It was entirely improbable. And somehow it was strangely familiar.
The Winter Soldier raised his gun and fired. He didn’t have time for distractions, or Steve Rogers’ shoulders.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toomanysharks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysharks/gifts).



> Literally the prompt was shoulders and I was like oh, ho, I'll write about some shoulders. Special thanks to toomanysharks for egging me into writing ridiculous things!
> 
> Disclaimer: Marvel is Marvel is Marvel and not mine at all.

The Winter Soldier first noticed it when he was on the helicarrier.

He blinked away the bout of unconsciousness from Rogers’ chokehold and watched the man swing himself back up to the control panel.

The Soldier’s eyes narrowed, cataloguing the movements to identify exposed vulnerabilities. He was still regaining his bearings. He assured himself that this alone was the reason why he watched the muscles in Rogers’ back shift so intently.

The blonde’s shoulders were broad, incredibly broad.

They stretched the blue uniform in a wide span, drawing down to a narrow waist. It was a distinctly triangular silhouette. It was entirely improbable. And somehow it was strangely familiar.

The Winter Soldier raised his gun and fired. He didn’t have time for distractions, or Steve Rogers’ shoulders.

He fired again. Then once more. That should have been it. That wasn’t it.

He found himself dragging the man to shore.

Holding his dislocated arm close to his body, he used his metal one to pull Rogers along. The Soldier wasn’t the man Rogers thought him to be. He also saw that Rogers was sincere in his misidentification. He would need to obtain further intelligence.The Soldier spared one last glance at Rogers’ bloody face. He confirmed the man was still breathing.

Then he limped away, leaving Captain America and the burning Potomac behind.

•

After extensive use of both the internet and the District of Columbia’s public library archives, The Winter Soldier decided to visit the Smithsonian exhibit. He wore nondescript clothing and a baseball hat, pulled down low on his forehead. He knew how to move unnoticed.

Arriving at the museum, he was objectively aware that this body used to belong to a James Buchanan Barnes.

He had seen the old news articles. However, among the few-featured pictures, image quality left something to be desired. Watching live film reels of his own face brightening into a wide smile while he jostled into Steve Rogers was another matter entirely.

The Soldier wouldn’t say he gawked at the full-blown image of Barnes’ face, but he might as well have. That was physically his face. And yet, that was not him. The Soldier frowned, squinting at the image and hoping to make more sense out of it.

He ended up planting himself down in the room with the film reel again, watching it more closely now that he knew what to expect.

It was comforting to see that Rogers’ big, dumb shoulders were still the same in the reels. If he could recognize nothing else familiar, The Soldier was relieved it was that. It made Rogers identifiable. It made him real. He knew objectively that Rogers’ current shoulders were a product of the serum, but they were still Rogers’ now.

The Winter Soldier stared at Rogers’ back in the reel as the man marched.

He sat there, blinking slowly and wondering if Rogers’ shoulders felt the same back in 1944 as they did now, sturdy and reliable. Then he realized he was the only one left in the room and the movie screen had gone black.

That would do for today.

•

It was time to go beyond the static, made-for-public-consumption releases. The Winter Soldier identified her from the film reel and matched the name with records he pulled from research on Bucky Barnes.

Margaret Carter, Peggy.

The Soldier shaved his beard down to respectable stubble and tied his hair back for the occasion. It was crucial he didn’t call attention to himself. He even smiled at the girl at the front desk, a brief flash of teeth.

The Soldier was allowed into the room with no trouble at all.

When he walked in, he saw an older woman propped up in bed. Her hair, a shock of grey, was curled gently into the same style she wore in the images The Soldier had seen. She frowned down at a newspaper before taking a sip of water.

“Steve? I thought you were off to—,” she trailed off when she finally looked up.

The Winter Soldier inclined his head in greeting to the woman. No, not the woman. Her name was Peggy Carter.

Peggy stared at him, eyes wide and flickering over his face in disbelief. Then she let out a delicate sigh. “Good heavens, must have been something in Brooklyn’s water,” she said.

The Winter Soldier glanced at a chair near her bedside questioningly and she nodded her permission. He took a seat and then stared back at her.

There was nothing. No recognition or familiarity, but she did make him feel less uncomfortable.

The Soldier licked his lips. “Sorry about SHIELD,” he offered as a way to start the interrogation. He frowned to himself and mentally corrected ‘interrogation’ to ‘conversation’.

She gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m not. Not if HYDRA was running the show.”

The Soldier watched her carefully. She was being honest. He relaxed slightly, sitting further back on the chair. Peggy hadn’t looked away from him since he stepped into the room.

“You—,” she began before cutting off. Peggy ducked her head forward with a small smile. “The nurses are going to wonder why I have so many good-looking young men visiting me these days.”

The Winter Soldier blinked. He couldn’t recall ever being told he was good-looking. It was charming, the comment coming from Peggy’s soft, accented voice.

There was no doubt that Rogers was good-looking. An assessment the Soldier noted merely for observational purposes.

“I don’t remember,” The Soldier finally said when Peggy went quiet, gazing at his face.

Peggy let out a dry laugh. “That makes two of us then. You’re lucky you caught me on a good day, Sergeant. What is it you don’t remember?”

He gripped the edges of the chair and they creaked under the pressure. The Soldier gritted his teeth as he unwillingly admitted, “I don’t remember most of it.”

Her brow furrowed and Peggy’s eyes took on a searching quality. “What do you remember then?” she asked diplomatically.

The Soldier clenched his jaw, working it back open to respond. “HYDRA, my handlers, missions. It comes back in pieces, but never all of it. Not much from before. But— I knew him.”

Peggy didn’t look as if she liked his response very much and it took him a moment to recognize the emotion. She was upset about what happened to him.

The Soldier was undecided. He had no point of comparison. Although he identified that he distinctly disliked HYDRA’s use of pain as a motivation tactic.

He also began to realize that he appreciated the ability to make decisions entirely on his own.

Before, he obeyed HYDRA. He was HYDRA’s weapon. The Soldier was not viewed as human. But now, he was an individual.

He was in charge of picking fries or pub chips as a side, he got to pick which color toothbrush he stole, and he got to be annoyed that the radio played the same ten songs in a constant rotation. He was going to rip out the entire console the next time ‘Cheerleader’ came on.

Then Peggy shook her head and snorted. “Of course you remember him, you dolt.”

The Winter Soldier raised his eyebrows and she rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I used to wonder if that brave idiot would have done a better job staying alive if he still had Barnes.”

The Soldier narrowed his eyes at her as he spoke. “He had you. Rogers would have tried to stay alive for you.”

Peggy patted a hand on his knee absently. He didn’t flinch, but he stared at the spot she touched for a long moment after she moved away. The Soldier knew companions used touch casually, as a sign of camaraderie. He had witnessed it. Experiencing it was more pleasant than expected.

Peggy spoke slowly, patiently. “He would have had me someday, if we got the chance. He didn’t have me then. Rogers liked me a hell of a lot, sure. But he loved Barnes with everything he had and he had a lot.”

The Winter Soldier blinked. He would vehemently deny that the sound that escaped his mouth was a splutter. The Soldier shook his head firmly. “No. He loved you.”

The Soldier was sure of this. Everything he read said the same thing. Steve Rogers loved Peggy Carter. They would have married and had bright eyed, stupidly gallant children together.

Peggy looked amused at his expense. “Dear, love is a multi-faceted kind of thing. I don’t pretend to know which kind Rogers felt toward Barnes, but he loved him. There’s no denying it.”

The Winter Soldier opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking stumped.

He had not been anticipating that. This was not typical of the information he gathered.

The Soldier could admit that nothing about this was typical. He was supposed to be prepared for anything. Although, it certainly made sense why Rogers was so damn earnest when facing him.

Why the blonde was a complete and utter dumbass.

The man had dropped his shield and refused to fight The Soldier. Instead, he laid there, vowing what should have been a useless idiom about train stops, like it was the answer to all life’s questions.

It made The Soldier want to punch him in the face.

Not because it was his mission, but because Rogers nearly let himself get killed. Nearly let The Soldier kill him.

The Soldier maintained a neutral tone as he probed. “How do you know?”

Peggy closed her eyes and rested back against the pillows propped on her bed. “There are many ways to say ‘I love you’ and most of them happen without ever uttering those words. Rogers went AWOL and stormed a HYDRA base after being told Barnes was likely dead because there was a slight chance he wasn’t. He used to sneak extra portions of his ration for salted peanuts into Barnes’ bag because they were his favorite. He’d always come by in the morning to let Barnes know where he’d be during the day, just in case he needed to find him. Steve did that even when he was in meetings above Barnes’ clearance level. Howard was always willing to help with skirting around that. There was also the time Steve bribed Phillips’ next-in-command in Austria to alter his schedule for the day so he and Barnes could go find some sort of bakery, don’t ask me why.”

The Soldier thought about what she said and pointed out, “Those are just actions.”

Peggy eyed him with some measure of judgment. “Actions you make because you care about someone. And not to rub it in, but you don’t have any memory of what happened. You’ll have to rely on what I say. I say Steve Rogers loved Bucky Barnes.”

He was somewhat impressed that she managed to sound smug and petulant at the same time.

While he was still unsure whether what she said was accurate, she was right. Peggy had been there and she knew Rogers and Barnes. He had no idea.

The Soldier felt strangely dry-mouthed and uncertain as he asked, “Did Barnes love him?”

She gave him another eye roll, but this one was paired with a self-satisfied smile. “He did,” she confirmed.

The smile turned fond. “There was a time when Barnes got absolutely smashed and wanted to talk to me about Rogers. Trying to figure out what kind of girl I was. Telling me how Steve always tried to do what was right, how he could look you right in the eye and swear he wasn’t being a little shit when he was being the biggest shit. Barnes told me that even though Steve might have had Erskine’s serum in him that he hadn’t actually changed at all. He said he was always great and now it was just that everyone else had realized it too. Barnes told me that Steve was the best person he ever knew.”

The Soldier watched her speak with rapt attention.

This was new information, nothing like what the papers or the history books had to say. Even more personal than the newsreel and he had thought watching his own face rearrange into a smile was as personal as it got.

Peggy’s tone turned mischievous. “Then he started talking to me about Steve’s new shoulders. He was so incoherent by then it was mostly ‘fuckin’ wide as a canyon, need a damn donkey to get across.’ Then he asked me if I agreed that Steve had the ‘kind of shoulders you wanted to throw your legs over.’ Of course I was a lady and told him to shove off if he didn’t want me to punch him in the face. I threw punches quite often back then. Not at Barnes, mind you, but the crunch is just so satisfying.”

He certainly agreed about the crunch, but was more concerned with her earlier remarks.

The Winter Soldier was now aware that the close attention he paid to Rogers’ shoulders was not a new development.

Peggy continued on. “The real question is why you’re here talking to me instead of him.”

He remained impassive before giving a curt head shake no. That would require approaching Rogers and blowing his cover. He was not in a position to do so without more intel.

Peggy reached for the pitcher from the table to refill her water and The Soldier poured more into the glass before handing it to her.

“Thank you, dear. Although, I think you’re being stupid,” she sighed, taking a long drink.

She placed the water glass back on the table and then blinked at him in surprise, gasping. “Sergeant Barnes?”

The Soldier had read Peggy’s file and was aware of her condition. He stayed with her, playing Crazy Eights until she came back to herself.

Peggy just finished telling him the story of Morita carting around a potted plant that he was accidentally watering with vodka for two months because he was stealing Dugan’s canteen, when a nurse came in and announced it was time for Ms. Carter to rest. He nodded and got to his feet.

Hesitating for a moment, the Soldier took Peggy’s hand and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles.

It seemed like the right thing to do, something Barnes would do. “Thank you, Peggy.”

Her eyes crinkled in the corners. “Anytime. But, I do need you to do something very important for me.”

The Soldier took a step forward to listen carefully to her request. She narrowed her eyes at him. “You need to report back to me on what it’s like having your legs thrown over those shoulders.”

He coughed slightly, thrown off by the unexpected request. “Ma’am, that’s not a component of my recon.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Well, add it to the list. If anyone deserves their legs over that man’s shoulders it’s one of us and I’m graciously renouncing my claim to you. Don’t let me down.”

The Soldier was uncertain how to respond to an elderly woman, who was once in love with Rogers, encouraging him to go have sex with the man. He felt slightly relieved that it was likely she wouldn’t remember this conversation and then promptly realized that was a terrible thought.

He simply dragged his human hand down his face. “Enjoy your day, Peggy.”

She gave him an unimpressed once over. “Mmmmhmmm.”

He stepped out of the room and the nurse covered a laugh, obviously having overheard the conversation. The Soldier quickly exited the building.

After taking stock of the information he gathered, The Soldier decided that he needed to increase Rogers’ surveillance to determine more about the situation.

•

The Soldier followed Rogers and Wilson to the mall.

He kept his distance, watching them idly and listening in on the bugs he had planted on Rogers’ clothing. It was all very mundane. Rogers needed to buy new shirts.

The Soldier sat on one of the benches near the food court with a soft pretzel.

He idled while Rogers and Wilson stopped for lunch before continuing their mission to clothe Steve.

The Soldier wondered if that meant Rogers would finally buy the right size shirt. All of Rogers’ tops appeared to be slightly too small. Either that, or his upper body simply refused to be covered like it was supposed to.

The Soldier had observed other individual’s attire and confirmed that it was not typical for shirts to outline pectoral and abdominal muscles in such high definition as Rogers’ clothing typically did. He purposefully avoided assessing the man’s shoulders on principle.

As he watched Rogers set down his tray across from Wilson, The Soldier’s eyes caught on a grate in the ceiling.

He paused as he considered the issue. That option would offer prime concealment, get him closer, and still provide a clear sightline. It was preferable to being jostled by shoppers and avoiding security camera feed.

The Soldier took his pretzel and chose a vent down a hall leading to a maintenance closet. He looked quickly and saw no one around. Then he leapt up, using his metal arm to pull the grate down.

After wrapping it tightly, he tossed the bag with his pretzel into the air vent. When he confirmed that he was still alone in the hall, he vaulted himself up and climbed into the vent space. The Soldier settled in and placed the grate back down behind him.

Then he began to army crawl. He followed the layout he had memorized when walking the mall to find his way to the food court.

The Soldier watched from above as Rogers and Wilson ate their lunch.

“Steve, I can’t pretend to understand your desire to wear khakis all the time. That doesn’t mean you need to buy new pants,” Wilson said between bites of his pepperoni pizza.

Rogers rearranged the breadsticks on his tray. “But everyone keeps making fun of them.”

Wilson shrugged. “Well yeah, because you’re an easy target, man. I’m pretty sure Barton and Stark have a bet going to see if they can provoke you into skinny jeans. Don’t let them win.”

Rogers looked confused. “Why would they do that?”

Wilson took another bite of pizza. “Why do they ever do anything? I don’t give a damn what kind of pants you wear. If you do get skinny jeans though, I don’t know if I can be seen with you.”

Rogers frowned at his friend. “You just said you didn’t care what kind of pants I wore.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “I don’t care. I’m just telling you that standing next to Captain America in skinny jeans is going to be both a hard hit to my ego and any chances I have of getting laid.”

Rogers laughed. “I think I picked up a few things from Bucky on how to be a wingman over the years.”

The Soldier went tense at the mention of Barnes’ name. Rogers said the man’s name so easily, with an unthinking fondness. He didn’t say anything further on the subject.

Wilson held up a hand. “Whoa, now. You can’t wingman a wingman.”

“That joke was already old the first time you told it,” Rogers groaned.

Wilson sniffed, taking a loud sip of his Pepsi. “‘That’s old’ says the nonagenarian. My jokes are fresh as hell, Steve.”

They finished their lunch and began shopping.

The Soldier followed from above, peering down at them from the vents. He ate his pretzel, watching Rogers try on different options and smirking at Wilson’s critiques.

‘That looks like you took the drapes from a community knitting room and put buttons on it.’

‘Did you even check the size? Your biceps look like they’re trying to free themselves from a sky blue, heathered prison.’

‘Steve, that’s a cowl necked sweater. You’re not supposed to pull it all the way up like that.’

‘Stop asking the sales assistants which fabric is the easiest to wash blood out of. They’re going to call security.’

‘How am I supposed to know if child labor was used when they made that?’

‘No, thirty-five dollars is not too expensive for a shirt. If you’re that upset about it, you can write a strongly worded letter like all the other old folks.’

‘So help me, lord. If I hear you tell one more person that I’m your personal shopper, I will call Natasha and have her come strangle you with this hanger. Then I’ll leave you with her. Remember last time you two went shopping? When I had to come find you where you were hiding in the mannequin storage supply?’

After the third store, The Soldier began to wonder if it was physically impossible to find clothing that fit Rogers the way it fit other people. He had his chin propped up in his hand, looking down where Wilson played a crossword puzzle on his phone.

They were both still waiting for Steve to step out of the fitting room. It was taking a suspiciously long time considering Rogers only had a stack of t-shirts to try on.

There was a muffled thump and a curse.

In sync, Wilson and The Winter Soldier looked in Rogers’ direction with concern.

The man mumbled something unintelligible and Wilson stood up to knock on the door. “You alright?”

There was a pause and then a reluctant response as Rogers muttered, “I think I’m stuck.”

Wilson sighed loudly and for a prolonged period of time. Then he rubbed at his eyes. “What do you mean, you’re stuck?”

The Winter Soldier’s eyebrows furrowed downward and he found he had to clap a hand to his mouth to stop what was nearly a bark of laughter. That definitely hadn’t happened in his recent memory.

Rogers sounded embarrassed as he whispered, “I mean I’m stuck. The shirt is all bunched up and I can’t, it’s—is anyone else out there?”

Wilson looked around. “All clear. This should be good. Come on out.”

Rogers fumbled with the door handle for a moment and then stumbled out of the fitting room.

The red t-shirt he had been attempting to put on was rucked up, covering Steve’s face. His arms were stuck upwards, the fabric caught around his shoulders. The Soldier took this opportunity to, as a matter of research, assess the display of Rogers’ naked upper body. It was an impressive sight to behold.

The sight was even more impressive when Rogers began to wiggle his arms in an attempt to extract himself from the clothing. The muscles in his stomach went taut as he arched upwards, trying to tug the shirt off.

Wilson squinted at the sight in confusion. “How the hell did you even manage that?”

Rogers tried to shrug, but it didn’t really work, the man’s arms flailing around helplessly with the motion.

The Soldier continued watching in amusement as Wilson attempted pulling the shirt off the blonde.

After a few more minutes of tugging and strategizing, the shirt had been shifted up over Rogers’ left shoulder, meaning it was now stuck on the right half of his body. The Soldier valiantly kept his eyes trained on Wilson’s alternating bursts of frustration, mockery, and disbelief.

At one point a man with a pair of jeans in his hands entered the room and saw Sam pulling on the shirt, Steve tilted forward and braced on one knee. He made eye contact with Wilson and then slowly went back out the way he came in.

“When I said there was no better reason to get back in than Captain America needing my help, I didn’t realize this was going to be in the job description,” Wilson said. He took a step back to survey the situation again.

The Soldier’s gaze drifted to the slope of Rogers’ exposed shoulder. The corded muscle shifted with Rogers’ movements and The Soldier tore his eyes from the sight when a sales assistant wandered into the dressing room.

“Is there anything I can assist you—,” she abruptly ended her sentence when Steve tried to back into the dressing room at the sound of her voice.

He was apparently unaware of the fact that the fitting room was no longer open and smashed backwards into the closed door. The room fell completely silent before the frame creaked ominously.

Sam lost it. He hunched over, laughing so hard that he had to brace his hands on his knees.

Steve’s face was still obscured by the shirt, his arms stuck straight in the air as he apologized to the wall, pieces of the dressing room door in shards around his feet.

The sales associate was clearly out of her depths. “Um—I’ll just go get my supervisor?”

The Soldier cocked his head to the side as the drama continued to unfold.

Steve groaned as she walked away. “Sam, this isn’t funny! Help me out of this before anyone else comes in here.”

Sam wiped at his eyes. “What? Like I haven’t been trying to get you out this whole time? Got any new ideas here?”

Steve grumbled to himself for a moment. “I have one, but I didn’t want to do this.”

In the next moment, Steve drew his arms down and extended his elbows outwards. The fabric ripped as Steve literally flexed his way out of the shirt. Rogers’ shoulder blades pulled back, becoming sharp, prominent lines that drew The Soldier’s attention.

Wilson who had finally regained his composure, immediately lost it again. “You just Hulked out of your clothes, man. Bruce is going to love this.”

Rogers clapped his hands over his face. “I’m never going to live this down.”

The Winter Soldier watched the sight of a shirtless, terribly embarrassed Captain America with interest.

He tried to reconcile this image with the man in the file HYDRA had presented to him. Captain America was a highly trained super soldier, but all The Soldier could see was Steve Rogers picking up the destroyed dressing room door and attempting to uselessly prop it back up.

It was like watching a hopelessly misguided golden retriever puppy.

Rogers tugged his own shirt back on and grabbed the ruined fabric as the sales assistant and her supervisor returned. The Winter Soldier observed Rogers apologizing profusely and then paying for the shirt and damages to the fitting room.

After the property damage and the fact that Rogers had already purchased five new shirts, it was clear the mall trip was drawing to a close.

The Soldier found his way to the men’s restroom on the west exit of the structure. He moved the grate aside and started to climb out.

Half of his body dangled from the air vent when Wilson entered the bathroom.

The Soldier froze.

As long as Wilson didn’t look over, he could drop into one of the stalls unnoticed.

At that moment, the ignored pretzel cheese-dip rolled out of the empty bag. The Soldier sincerely regretted both his decision not to litter in the vent and his dislike of nacho cheese.

The container dropped to the ground. Wilson’s head whipped towards the sound of impact as the cheese splattered.

It was pretty clear that Wilson successfully identified The Soldier hanging out of the air vent by the way he dropped into a defensive position.

He drew himself back up when he noticed The Soldier didn’t make any attempt to move.

Wilson opened his mouth. Then he closed it. He opened it again and stood back, arms crossed as he looked at The Soldier, then down to the cheese spilled on the ground. “I don’t want to know,” he finally said.

The Soldier nodded and dropped down the rest of the way, sliding the grate back in place.

Wilson’s eyebrows went way up when The Soldier began to clean the mess. “You been watching all day?” he asked.

The Soldier nodded again and Wilson stared back up at the air vents. “Not going to lie, that’s really disturbing,” he said.

The Soldier shrugged and Wilson looked around the bathroom. “This is my life now. Well, I’m just going to hold it,” he announced and started to exit.

He stopped before be pushed the door open. “I would say see you around, but it’s probably more like you’ll see me and I won’t see you.”

The Soldier nodded once more and Wilson pursed his lips in thought. “Alright then, good talk. You’re not planning on trying to kill Steve, are you? Because if you are, then I’m going to have to tell someone about this.”

This time The Soldier shook his head no.

Wilson stared him down for a long moment before seemingly deciding something. He flashed The Soldier a wary smile. “That’s what I thought. Well, I’ll let you carry on then. Stay creepy, man.” Then he left the bathroom.

The Soldier tailed Rogers and Wilson for the rest of the day, for intel.

•

The Winter Soldier had a number of safe houses established throughout the city, but his primary location was in the Brooklyn townhouse directly above Rogers’.

He vacated the previous residents with a fake gas leak.

It offered him a prime ability to survey Rogers’ activities.

Most mornings began with Rogers waking at a disturbingly early hour to run followed by a shower upon his return. The Soldier didn’t know this because of invasive surveillance or noisy piping, but because Rogers sang in the shower, loudly.

His voice wasn’t necessarily bad, but The Soldier also wouldn’t describe it as very good. If there was any way to encapsulate the sound, it was that Steve Rogers was enthusiastic.

The Soldier stayed in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when Steve’s rendition of ‘Pocketful of Sunshine’ was going to end.

It was too early for that kind of cheerful shit.

Apparently, the answer was never. Rogers reached the last line and went back in for another round and then another.

The Soldier reluctantly found himself humming along to the chorus. He rolled out of his blankets and went to brew a pot of coffee. He didn’t consciously realize he was matching Rogers’ volume or that he was verbalizing a response to the previous lyric as he sang along. “And nobody cries, there's only butterflies.”

The Soldier only processed what had happened when he heard the noise Rogers made. He would charitably call it a yelp.

Then eerie silence commenced.

It seemed Steve could also hear him. It had never been an issue before because The Soldier purposely stayed unobtrusive. The Soldier was irritated that he slipped up, but also because the song wasn’t over.

Looking around while the coffee puttered away, The Soldier took a steadying breath then tapped his foot loudly on the floor.

It sounded like Rogers dropped something, followed by a clattering noise and muffled cursing. “Sorry,” Rogers eventually called up to him.

The Soldier rolled his eyes to the empty room and tapped his foot again.

He heard Rogers huff and then The Soldier made the next tap on beat to Natasha Bedingfield.

This resulted in Rogers exclaiming a surprised, “Oh!”

Another minute stretched before Rogers let out a somewhat hesitant, “Take me away?”

The Soldier found himself casting a fond look downwards and then abruptly frowned.

“Your turn,” Rogers’ voice prompted from his kitchen floor.

He debated not responding, but he had initiated the contact, so The Soldier grumbled, “Take me away.”

Rogers took over after that, resuming his previous volume. “A secret place, _a secret place_.”

When Steve got to the end, The Soldier had progressed to eating a cinnamon brown sugar pop tart. He snorted when he heard Rogers say, “Back to your regularly scheduled programming.”

The day was mostly uneventful.

Rogers went out with Wilson for the day and he checked in periodically, noting that they met with Romanoff for lunch. Very routine, that was until The Soldier did his hourly perimeter check and identified a hostile stationed on the nearby street corner.

To anyone else perhaps the man wouldn’t have drawn attention, but The Soldier wasn’t anyone else.

The operative was ready to engage and taking surveillance. The Soldier waited and eliminated the threat as the man attempted to enter Rogers’ apartment from the balcony. He twisted the man’s neck quickly, frowning at his now inert form.

That was just rude, you didn’t ambush a man’s balcony when he had a begonia sunning.

The man had a team positioned nearby and they swarmed once their companion was taken out. So, The Soldier slit their throats. He looked down at the bodies and sighed.

In retrospect, he realized perhaps there was an alternative way to deal with the situation, but it was too late now.

Rogers would not be happy to find the one on the balcony, or these five in his front hall. This was the third time this month.

He leaned down to start taking care of it, when he heard footsteps approach. The Soldier drew himself around the corner.

He relaxed slightly when he heard Wilson’s voice. “Why am I juggling the groceries and the keys when you can bench press a—oh shit.”

The Soldier peered around the wall to see Wilson’s disgusted expression. He enjoyed the exaggerated scrunching the man managed to contort his facial features into.

“What was that, Sam? Need some cheese with that whine?” Rogers called as he came through the entryway.

Wilson carefully turned the key in the lock and toed one of the limp arms out of the way to open the door. “Steve! You got dead guys on your door mat again.”

Steve sped up his arrival and surveyed the situation with a look of distress. “Oh no. Mrs. Nerret is never going to bring me a bundt cake again.”

Sam rolled his eyes so hard that it looked like he might have caught a temporary glimpse of his brain. “Yeah, that’s clearly what’s wrong with this situation.”

Steve stooped down to check for signs of life and Wilson pushed his way inside. “Oh good, you got a bonus body on your balcony too. Buy five, get one free. Your begonia is still looking good though.”

Rogers shot a disapproving look in Wilson’s direction. Then he rose to his feet and sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he looked around.

The Soldier knew he should leave the area. He knew that it was a monumentally terrible plan to remain where he was. However, he didn’t particularly want to leave. Rogers’ massive shoulders were pulling his grey t-shirt tight against his back, the slope of his shoulder blades jutting out, angular and fascinating.

Rogers casted his eyes in The Soldier’s general direction and he went very still.

Letting out a small huff, Steve stared back down at the operatives. “Do you think it’s him?”

Wilson propped himself up in the doorway. “Please tell me that was rhetorical.”

Rogers shrugged deprecatingly and Wilson groaned, “Of course it’s him.”

A door down the hall slammed. The Soldier saw someone with a small dog walk in his direction and rapidly worked out an exit strategy. Waiting until the young woman with the Yorkie-Poo encountered Wilson and Rogers, he followed close behind.

The woman stopped at the sight of the bodies, dismayed and babbling about calling the police.

The Soldier tugged his hat lower and moved assuredly, not quickly enough to draw attention, but not slowing down. He also made a few generally concerned noises so as to not draw attention to himself.

His plan was slightly thrown off course, literally, when Rogers took a step backwards into his path. The Soldier didn’t stop.

He felt his heart rate escalate as he pressed his human palm against Rogers’ shoulder to guide him forward. He pitched his voice differently as he mumbled an apology. Rogers shifted at the contact, the ball of his shoulder rotating under The Soldier’s touch as he offered his own apology and moved out of the way.

The Soldier withdrew his hand and shook it out, stretching his fingers.

When he glanced back, he saw Rogers speaking reassuringly to the woman, thoughtlessly brushing at the spot The Soldier had touched.

Wilson saw The Soldier pause and squinted at him. Recognition followed quickly and then the man quirked an eyebrow as he mouthed, “Extra creepy.”

The Soldier felt his mouth pull up into a smirk. He nodded, allowing that, before exiting the building.

••

The Winter Soldier hesitated, unsure whether to move out into the open and assist Thor or remain in position.

Then he saw Iron Man take a hit that short-circuited the suit while Black Widow was thrown through a reinforced window.

The Soldier dropped onto the street from his position three stories up a fire escape. He rolled out of the impact and strode forward, reaching down to lift the Asgardian’s hammer.

The Soldier swung it at an incoming hostile, surprised at how well balanced the weapon was. He tested the weight of the hammer before tilting it to the side and using it to crack open a man’s skull.

“Are you shitting me?” he heard Stark ask, staring at The Soldier in shock from where he had been grounded.

The Soldier ignored him and smashed the hammer into a line of operatives that tried to charge from the left. He tossed it towards Thor once he was close enough.

The blonde caught the hammer, astonishment painted clear on his face. “Worthy stranger, will you honor me with your name?” The prince waited for a response in the middle of ground zero while half of his team needed assistance.

The Soldier looked to where Rogers was knocked off his feet and he lined up a shot that hit the assailant in the head, dead center. Then he began to walk away. This was not his fight.

The Soldier addressed Thor as he passed. “I have no name.”

He felt Rogers watch him as he retreated and looked back automatically, acting on instinct.

Captain America launched himself to his feet. He stared at The Soldier, uncertain whether to rejoin the fight or go after him.

The Soldier raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly to where Wilson was literally on fire, flying in circles and shouting. “You kidding me with this shit? Flame throwers? Why? Who signed off on this and why do only the bad guys have flame throwers?”

Stark was doing what looked like a minor operation on the suit’s open circuitry from behind a collapsed beam. “How many you want? Give me ten minutes.”

Wilson barreled through a control tower, then paused to tamp out his fiery clothes. “What the hell? Where would—you know what, never mind. I don’t want a damn flamethrower right now, just focus on the suit.”

Tony scoffed, directing an energy blast into an operative’s face without looking up from his tinkering. “I am a man of many talents, don’t try to limit me.”

Rogers still hovered, undecided, but he turned to take out an agent who attacked from his right.

The Soldier eliminated an operative approaching the man from behind, the shot flying centimeters above Rogers’ right shoulder. His eyes lingered on the spot where Rogers clapped his hand in surprise, twisting to see the man fall to the ground. Rogers turned back to him and took a step in his direction.

The Soldier raised two fingers, gesturing to his own eyes and then pointing in the direction of the fight.

Rogers looked startled by the gesture, but he flashed him a smile and a curt nod. Then he geared up to return to the fight.

Before he walked away, Rogers called out, “Nice of you to stop by.”

The Soldier heard the warring sincerity and sarcasm in the tone and responded with a jaunty salute that made Rogers laugh. His huge shoulders shook as his head tilted back. The Soldier felt an unusual sensation in his chest, startled that he prompted a positive reaction out of Rogers.

“You going to flirt all day, Cap? I am enjoying this, but I see where I went wrong in my matchmaking. Seems you like them tall, dark, and deadly. Why didn’t you tell me?” Black Widow’s voice carried from where she somersaulted cleanly away from an explosion.

Rogers’ face turned red as he hissed, “Nat!”

The Soldier took another shot at an approaching operative, blowing a hole straight through the woman’s chest. “Pay attention,” he admonished, as he stepped backwards.

Rogers gave him a dirty look. “It’s hard to pay attention with you here,” he responded sharply, then turned even redder.

Stark let out a low whistle. “Wow, Cap. Go on, tell him you want to spangle all fifty of the stars on his flag.”

An arrow whirred by from Hawkeye’s position out of sight. It lodged into the center of a power source. “What does that even mean?” he called down from his perch, asking once he saw the box implode.

Stark waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, you know.”

Barton yelled back, “I really don’t.”

The Winter Soldier watched the exchange in confusion. The Hulk literally smashed through HYDRA’s warehouse while everyone carried on fighting and holding the conversation. He took another step back.

“Hold up, Kurt Cobain,” Stark said in his direction.

“That the best you got?” Romanoff asked, unimpressed as she used her teeth to pull the pin out of a grenade and launch it into a shallow weapons cache.

The Soldier found himself agreeing with her. Cobain was the obvious choice, low-hanging fruit. The grenade exploded.

The Soldier stopped to look at Stark, who had also paused to glower in the Black Widow’s direction. “Like he got that reference anyway.”

“Smells Like Teen Spirit,” The Soldier said in response.

He knew Nirvana. The nineties rock station with Ronnie and Trish’s morning show played their music. He liked that station.

Stark’s mouth fell open as he stared at him. “Oh my God. You are such a cliché. This is amazing. Where’s your plaid? Tied around your waist under that Kevlar?”

The Soldier resisted the urge to sigh and sent another shot into the jugular of the man trying to strangle Rogers.

“Nice one!” Hawkeye called down.

The Soldier raised a hand in acknowledgement.

“Surely you must have a name,” Thor insisted, appearing to The Soldier’s left after emerging from the warehouse looking slightly singed.

The Soldier eyed where the man’s cape smoked before granting him a response. “The Winter Soldier.”

He watched Rogers launch his shield into a triangular formation and take down a group of operatives. When Captain America approached him, he debated retreating.

The Soldier resisted the urge and stood his ground, his stomach bottoming out. Rogers brushed debris off the top of his golden head, spreading dust through his hair. “Thanks for stepping in,” Rogers said cautiously.

The Soldier nodded and then looked Rogers full on as he said, “I’m not the James Buchanan Barnes you remember.”

Rogers tilted his head at him. “I know,” he responded slowly.

The Winter Soldier watched the man’s face and Rogers did seem to understand what he was saying. “Then what do you want from me?” he asked in confusion. Rogers’ attempts to initiate contact with him made no sense if he knew he was not in fact his friend.

Rogers’ mouth turned down at the corners. “I don’t want anything you’re not willing to give.”

The Soldier stared at him blankly. He didn’t know what that meant. His mission was to obtain more information. That was it. He purposefully ignored the voice in his head that pointed out he would eventually have enough information and then what would he do?

Rogers used his shield to punch an agent to The Soldier’s right directly in the head. The Soldier ducked out of the way as the blonde threw the vibranium, knocking another agent off his feet. The Soldier went to the operative and drove his boot into the man’s throat, picking the shield up and spinning it back.

Rogers caught it and gave him a small, strange smile.

The Soldier stared at Rogers for another moment before he turned and walked away. The conversation felt like it was done.

He didn’t get far before the urge to check in drew him back. Rogers was his primary objective, it didn’t make sense to leave when surveillance was still necessary. He took a position opposite Barton’s, his rifle trained on the action below.

The Soldier began picking off targets when it looked like any of the Avengers could use an assist.

The first time, Romanoff looked confused, but continued running. The second time, Thor stared intently in his general direction. The third time, Wilson yelped and backflipped in surprise. The fifth time Barton shouted, “Shit, you’re good.” The seventh time, Rogers’ eyes picked him out immediately, which should have been impossible, and he grinned that same smile from the newsreel.

The Soldier blinked in surprise. Before, he thought Rogers suffered from delusions that his friend had returned, but the man was now aware he was The Winter Soldier. And he still smiled at him like that.

A strange warmth grew in the pit of his stomach and The Soldier wasn’t sure what it meant. He determined that he needed to continue gathering information in order to make an assessment.

•

The Soldier followed the Avengers on their next mission.

He had proven himself useful and it made him uneasy when Rogers went out on a call. This way he could flank the Avengers and keep watch.

He tucked himself up on a rooftop several miles away, settled in with a long-range rifle. He contented himself by taking out peripheral targets and only interfering directly when it seemed necessary.

This all worked out just fine, until HYDRA seemed to realize the general direction his shots came from and launched a short-range missile.

The Soldier sighed at the inconvenience and dissembled his rifle, fitting the pieces back into their case.

He hauled the case up and jumped from the building as the missile made impact. The Soldier was backlit against the explosion, the heat searing. He twisted from it, grabbing onto the adjacent building’s fire escape and then sprinting across the rooftops.

The Soldier quickly approached where the Avengers had actively engaged HYDRA’s Baltimore base.

He tucked the rifle case under the patch of greenery he scouted prior and drew out the M60. The Soldier launched himself into a squadron of agents attempting to approach from the south. He primarily used his gun as a blunt instrument, smashing it into a woman’s nose and swinging it around to shatter another agent’s collarbone. Flipping the gun, he shot the approaching cluster in a clean line, one by one.

When the agents were down, he climbed up a nearby building to get a better vantage point.

A man charged at him and The Soldier grabbed the agent’s submachine gun, crushing it with his left hand. All color drained from the man’s face and Iron Man landed beside them. “That man just shit himself.”

The Soldier noted Stark was correct in his statement.

He carelessly shoved the soiled agent off the side of the building and moved forward to take on a large man swinging around a cattle prod. He let himself enjoy the rush of adrenaline. This he could do. Maybe he didn’t know much, but he knew how to fight.

The Soldier went where he was needed.

He assisted Barton by snapping the spine of a sharp shooter aiming at the archer. Then he leapt onto a man’s back, preventing him from using a jetpack to shoot Wilson down. The Soldier used the jet stream to burn away the man’s flesh and leap to safety.

On the ground, he tossed Romanoff a dagger lying several feet away from where she had an operative in a chokehold, with her thighs. Stark gave him a boost when the flamethrowers made an appearance again, this time targeting Iron Man’s navigation system. The Soldier used the extra height to rip the internal circuitry out of the machines.

When the Hulk thundered by, The Soldier simply stood aside. That green man didn’t need any assistance.

He drew up Thor’s hammer to smash into the tanks rolling in with bursts of blue light shooting out the top in a strangely familiar way. The Soldier swung the weapon swiftly at the first tank and it rolled back into two oncoming vehicles.

When The Soldier caught up to Captain America, the blonde was busy performing unnecessary gymnastics and punching agents in the face. As to be expected.

A surge of operatives emerged from the stronghold.

The Soldier dropped to a kneeling position when Rogers raised his shield, directing his shots off the vibranium. Shifting incrementally, The Soldier twisted so that the deflections hit each incoming agent on target.

A loud explosion drew attention to where Romanoff emerged from a cloud of dark smoke. “Self-destruct mechanism, we’ve got sixty seconds.”

The operatives didn’t slow down. If anything, they seemed more determined to take on the Avengers.

Romanoff rolled her eyes when she drove a nearby crowbar straight through a man’s chest. “No sense of strategy.”

The Soldier and Rogers stood closest to the building set to detonate. Steve grinned at Natasha and then looked towards The Soldier in consideration. Rogers lowered his stance, angling himself forward. Then he raised his eyebrows in question.

Rogers hadn’t verbalized a plan, but somehow The Soldier knew what he was suggesting.

The Soldier watched the blonde for a moment before he nodded and moved to brace himself. Rogers came at him full on, sprinting with his arms pumping. The man lowered his right shoulder without breaking stride and The Soldier followed the momentum as Rogers hefted him upwards. He resumed the sprint, and The Soldier took a minute to adjust to Rogers’ gait, to the jolts of impact on each step. Then he drew up his gun and began to shoot.

Each shot fired clean as he breathed carefully and pulled the trigger in the moments of weightlessness before Steve’s feet touched the ground again. The Soldier scanned the area, carefully avoiding where the Hulk rampaged through the underbrush, where Thor flew to the left, and where Tony and Sam shuttled Natasha and Clint in their wake.

A momentary second of deafening sound and searing heat bowled past them all as the base imploded. The Soldier didn’t stop shooting until he ran out of bullets and by then they had already cleared the base by several hundred feet.

The Soldier suddenly realized two things.

One being that Rogers had a fairly solid grip on his ass to hold him in place, and two, he was literally draped over the shoulders that had caused him so much consternation these past few months. The muscles shifted beneath his stomach, constantly in motion as Rogers ran, the rounded give and take of the movements rippling through his enormous frame.

When Rogers finally slowed, he took in deep, shuddering breaths. The exertion made his shoulders heave.

Sam touched down. He released Clint and sent an amused glance their way. When Romanoff stepped away from Stark after landing, she told Steve where she directed the hostages to run. Sam took the opportunity to walk closer. He looked pointedly to where The Soldier rested atop the blonde’s shoulders.

The Soldier glowered back in response. It was bad enough that he had an obvious weakness for Rogers’ shoulders. He didn’t need other people pointing it out to him.

“Well Cap, seems like you got your hands full. Or should I say a handful,” Stark said in a rush after Romanoff stopped talking. It sounded like he had been attempting to be polite and the effort was too much.

Barton twisted his head around and narrowed his eyes. “If you were going for an arm joke, that was weak.”

Stark huffed. “What’s with the assassin peanut gallery today? It wasn’t a Metallica joke. Honestly, has no one else noticed this?” He gestured emphatically to where Steve’s arm was, as The Winter Soldier noted previously, locked around his waist with a hand firmly planted on his ass.

Rogers finally seemed to notice where his hand was located and immediately let go.

The Soldier landed gracefully, rolling out of the abrupt release. Stark opened his mouth to say something further and The Soldier raised his eyebrows in challenge.

He flashed what could loosely be called a smile, but was more accurately a baring of teeth.

The tech genius’ mouth snapped shut and he took a step behind Romanoff. “Frosty does not like that.”

Romanoff scoffed. “He doesn’t like you.”

Stark straightened back up. “Understandable. You’d still think I’d get the sympathy-like since he murdered my parents.”

The Soldier’s eyebrows drew downwards. He hadn’t known that. “Sorry,” he offered inadequately, but still sincere, to the tech genius.

Stark shrugged. “Brainwashing, torture, lack of autonomy. I get it. It wasn’t really you. But, I do expect you to wear an Iron Man shirt at least once a month to atone for your sins against the Stark family.”

The Soldier nodded solemnly, he could accept those terms.

Stark looked at him in surprise. “Yeah?”

The Soldier nodded again to confirm his agreement and Stark looked pleased before Thor drew the man’s attention away, asking what would happen to the remains of the base.

The Soldier saw Rogers rub at the back of his neck, face flushed. “Sorry about that, I didn’t realize—,” he said quietly.

The Soldier nodded. “I don’t mind.”

Rogers looked up at him quickly, turning redder. The Soldier realized belatedly how that could be interpreted. “I knew you weren’t groping me,” he added. He became somewhat concerned that Rogers was going to die of embarrassment when the man let out a strangled noise.

The Soldier tried to assure him. “Due to your moral principles, I assume any groping you engage in is fully consensual. Since you hadn’t asked, I knew that was unintentional.” That seemed to have the opposite effect he intended, as Rogers began to literally choke in mortification.

Only then did The Soldier notice that Wilson was shaking in silent mirth. Barton looked like he wished he had some sort of snack to consume during the spectacle. The Soldier could understand. After all, he had the soft pretzel during Rogers’ Fitting Room Fiasco. He found empathy was becoming easier with time.

The Soldier gave up on attempted verbal assurance. He’d already spoken more than he liked to and it clearly was not working.

The Soldier patted Rogers on the shoulder, attempting a show of the companionable touching he has witnessed. Rogers seemed to deflate at the contact, but it made Wilson snort loudly. Rogers’ shoulder felt firm under his fingers, wide and comforting in its bulk. He dug his fingers in slightly and Rogers sank into the grip, the banded muscle giving way to his touch.

The Soldier withdrew his hand quickly when he noticed the assessing look Romanoff leveled at him. He stepped backwards and nodded at the Avengers before walking off into the woods.

The Soldier wasn’t sure what the parameters of this mission were anymore.

••

The Soldier rounded the corner and came face-to-face with the barrel of a very large gun.

On the other side stood a woman in electric blue heels, her blonde hair pinned up into an elegant twist.

His surveillance efforts allowed him to identify her as Virginia “Pepper” Potts.

She let out a breath of relief at the sight of him and lowered the gun. A reaction quite atypical to one he normally received. “I almost shot you,” she told him in a scolding tone.

The Soldier blinked. He was aware of that fact. “You should have,” he told her honestly. She didn’t know him or what his intentions were. It was ill advised not to shoot.

She rolled her eyes and tapped at the small device in her ear. “Whatever JARVIS has on you says you’re an ally.”

The Soldier surveyed her for a long moment and then nodded. That was an accurate assessment.

Ms. Potts gestured down the hall and he took the lead. He was glad he had when a man in raid gear appeared, throwing a canister in their direction.

“Cover your face,” he instructed Ms. Potts and she quickly pulled her suit jacket up over her nose and mouth. The Soldier took a moment to assess the mist slowly filling the room. Then he smirked. They hadn’t been anticipating his involvement. This wasn’t a compound that affected his body chemistry.

Ms. Potts started coughing. “Are you smiling right now?” she asked incredulously.

The Soldier flashed her the smirk growing on his face and responded with his all-purpose nod. He crept down low and when the first STRIKE team member took a step in his direction, he broke the man’s kneecaps. The Soldier moved in a flurry of motions, kicking out the operative’s fighting stance and smashing his head into the wall.

Then he was up, throwing one of his combat knives into another agent’s throat. The Soldier found his way back to Miss Potts once the threat was neutralized. “Can I guide you, Miss Potts?” he asked in lieu of grabbing her, mostly due to the fact that she was still covering her face and the room was enveloped in a cloudy haze.

As it was, she startled at the sound of his voice. He noted that, luckily, she wasn’t a nervous shooter.

“Call me Pepper, please,” she said, lifting her hand up in his vague direction.

He reached for it carefully with his right hand. When he felt her smooth palm, The Soldier nearly dropped her hand in surprise. He was unused to gentle contact. The Soldier led her out of the room and into another hall of the Tower. She took in a deep gulp of fresh air once they cleared the previous space.

Looking around for a moment, she took a step further down the hall when another STRIKE team swarmed in.

Pepper shot an agent through the stomach. The Soldier admired the hit, before moving into action. He took care of four of the operatives and when he looked back to assess Ms. Potts’ safety, he saw that she no longer had her gun.

An agent had his hand wrapped around her neck, pinning her to the wall several feet off the ground.

The Soldier felt something burn hot through his veins and he identified it as righteous anger. He ripped a man’s head from his shoulders in rage with the sudden need to reach Ms. Potts. The only remaining agent gaped at him and deliberately placed her weapon on the floor before fleeing the room.

Striding over to Miss Potts, The Soldier drew out one of his favorite daggers.

Then the man pinning the Stark Industries CEO spontaneously burst into flames, falling away as her feet met the floor again. Ms. Potts’ irises burned golden orange for a moment as she rubbed at her neck, chest heaving. The color returned to normal while The Soldier surveyed the smoldering and decidedly dead man in front of her.

“That’s useful,” he said evenly.

He knew that she had been the subject of Extremis, but was unaware that Stark had stabilized the formula. The Soldier should have expected that was the case.

Ms. Potts gave him a self-satisfied smile. “It is. I like to remind myself in particularly terrible meetings that I could light everyone on fire with my mind if it came down to it.”

The Soldier raised his eyebrows at her and nodded, agreeing that the technique sounded helpful.

Ms. Potts frowned and The Soldier heard a voice coming from the device in her ear. She looked down at her sooty skirt as she spoke, brushing some of the black smudges off. “No, you don’t need to come back. I’m fine, Tony. I’ll see you when you’re done.”

Then Ms. Potts smiled at The Soldier and he shrugged. She ended the call before taking a disheartened look around the hallway. After she finished counting the bodies in this particular area, she paused to look at The Soldier.

“So, I was trying to figure out a nice way to say this, but I gave up. I’m aware that we just met and don’t really know each other, but you look like you haven’t slept in about a year. I’m going to go make some lunch if you want to join me and then I can keep watch while you shower and take a nap.” The Soldier blinked at her.

Ms. Potts looked flustered. “Only if you want. You don’t have to. It’s just, I understand not feeling safe anywhere. It helps if there are people around to back you up.” He took a moment to consider the offer. She was certainly qualified to keep an adequate perimeter if any possible threats could be incinerated.

He also noted that he had not eaten anything but protein bars in several days. While a year stretched how long he had last slept, he was also aware that fitfully passing out from exhaustion and then constantly waking from nightmares wasn’t a rejuvenating sleep schedule. On top of that, The Soldier couldn’t even remember the last time he was near running water.

The Soldier looked back to Ms. Potts as she watched him uncertainly. “Okay,” he finally answered.

Her face brightened and she led the way to the stairwell. He noted that the elevator seemed to be sparking uselessly, the doors riddled with bullet holes.

After they washed the remains of the fight off their hands, The Soldier sat for lunch with Ms. Potts. He ate the offered ham and cheese sandwich with only a suspicious sniff to determine that it didn’t appear to be poisoned. Ms. Potts wasn’t even offended by his paranoia. She offered him potato chips and he took a handful before sampling the peach green tea she gave him as a beverage.

“I like you,” she announced after a thoughtful bite of her own sandwich.

The Soldier’s eyes crinkled slightly even as he told her, “You shouldn’t.”

Ms. Potts shrugged. “I get to decide who I like. You decapitated someone on my behalf. That’s never happened before. Which gets more insulting after I think about the company I keep. You’d think it would have happened before.”

The Soldier agreed. “You’d think so.”

Ms. Potts sighed. “I need to get out more.”

Once they finished eating, Ms. Potts brought him to a guest floor and showed him where the bathroom and linen closet were located. The Soldier took a shower so hot that the steam curled around him, misting the air within minutes. He enjoyed the feeling of washing the grime and blood away. The darkened water swirled down the drain and it felt ritualistic.

The Soldier heard Ms. Potts on the other side of the door, talking softly into her phone as she made arrangements to clean up the Tower and get rid of the dead agents. When he toweled off, he noted that the coconut shampoo he used had left his hair very soft and smooth. He knocked to signal he was about to step out and heard Ms. Potts move away from the bathroom door she had been sitting against.

The Soldier tried to figure out how to thank her for her kindness, but all he said was, “The shampoo smells nice.”

Ms. Potts smiled at him and he saw that she understood what he couldn’t put into words. “It does, doesn’t it?” Then she gestured to the room at large. “Would you prefer to nap in the bedroom or the living room?”

He surveyed the area and narrowed his gaze onto a comfy looking chair near the window where sunlight spilled into the room. The Soldier pointed to the chair and Pepper nodded. She had taken her heels and suit coat off while he was showering. Ms. Potts took a seat on the couch in front of the TV, her back propped against the arm pillow and a notepad balanced on her knees. The Soldier carefully lowered himself into the chair, eyes scanning the room again and determining it was a secure location for the moment.

Ms. Potts’ pen glided on the page and he relaxed, drifting off to the rhythmic scratching noise. He fell asleep shortly after Ms. Potts began to hum. The Soldier jolted awake from a nightmare, wind gusts and the screeching of train tracks echoing in his ears.

His eyes moved wildly across the room and The Soldier noticed his hands wrapped around the hilt of a knife he had drawn out at some point while unconscious. Ms. Potts kept her focus on what she was writing, but he knew she was paying attention to him.

“You’re in the Avengers Tower,” she said off-hand.

He slid the knife back into the band wrapped around his torso and gave her a quick nod to show that he understood. Pepper smiled and returned to her paper. It was quiet and The Soldier let himself enjoy the restfulness Ms. Potts’ presence provided.

Which was why it was unsurprising that moments later he heard a frantic shout. “Pepper!”

Ms. Potts raised her voice to get Stark’s attention. “In here, Tony!”

Stark charged into the room, still wearing the Iron Man suit. He sighed audibly in relief at the sight of Ms. Potts, gently tipping her chin up to get a closer look. Once he was satisfied that she was unharmed, he kept his gaze on Ms. Potts, but acknowledged them both. “So, this is why you told me not to hurry? You’re kicking back with The Winter Soldier?”

Ms. Potts surveyed Stark critically. “Are you jealous that you’re not the only one having play dates with a super soldier?”

Stark huffed and squinted in The Soldier’s direction before turning back to Ms. Potts. “This does explain all the bodies. Not that I am questioning your abilities, but only one of those guys looked extra crispy. And I think I stepped over a head. A head, Pepper.”

Ms. Potts patted Stark’s arm through the suit. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Stark paused and then frowned at The Soldier. “When did Pepper let you in?”

Ms. Potts looked guilty. “Oh, I didn’t let him in. He just appeared really.”

Stark threw his arms up and frowned. “Great. How’d you get in then?”

The Soldier raised his eyebrows. “Your security system isn’t as good as you think it is.”

Spluttering slightly, Stark put his hands on his hips. “Excuse you, my security system is phenomenal. Although, I will admit that I didn’t exactly plan for a terrifying, ninety-something, assassin, horror story.”

The Soldier shrugged. “Plan for all contingencies.”

Stark shot him a sour look. “Thanks for the tip, Optimus Prime.”

Ms. Potts looked displeased on The Soldier’s behalf. Stark ran a hand down his face and then his mouth fell open. “Wait a minute. It’s been you. You’re the one that’s been tampering with the security system.”

The Winter Soldier wasn’t sure whether that was an apt description. “Improving it,” he corrected.

Stark stepped out of the suit and The Soldier watched as the metal form walked away on its own. Maybe he knew more about perimeter safety than Stark, but the tech genius certainly had the advantage there.

Taking a seat next to Ms. Potts, Stark leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “That’s what you call setting off motion sensors by dropping dead HYDRA agents at vulnerable access points?”

The Soldier shrugged. It clearly worked, because when he drew attention to the location, Stark fixed the problem. Plus, he had to do something with the agents so Rogers would stop complaining about all the dead people in his building.

“I like your version of the thermal adapter,” he told Stark matter-of-factly.

Stark instantly perked up. “Yeah? When I synced it to the virtual fencing it was tricky to eliminate the unnecessary heat signatures.”

The Soldier nodded. He understood the complications where the two would cross over. “Never seen anyone execute it successfully until you. You consider adding a jammer?”

Stark’s fingers twitched, seemingly wanting to reach for his tools or the tech that was currently off-line.

Ms. Potts sighed and passed him a piece of paper. Stark began to scribble down notes. “This is great stuff. You should break in more often.”

Ms. Potts watched Tony fondly and The Soldier rose to his feet. “I could show you where the biggest problems are,” he offered.

It would help keep Rogers safe, so it was essentially part of his mission. He frowned to himself when he realized he had once again reshaped the mission parameters unthinkingly.

Stark jumped up excitedly. “Lead the way, Tin-Tin.”

The Soldier led Stark through the Tower and pointed out the vulnerabilities that were the most troublesome. He ended the circuit by pointing up at a narrow, metal grate where the primary source of power for the Tower’s solar energy came from. Stark had been frantically noting his observations, but this one had him frowning skeptically.

“No one can get up there easily,” he protested.

The Soldier rolled his eyes then dropped down into a squatting position before leaping upwards and catching the vent. He twisted it out of place with his human hand and used the metal arm to grasp the ledge. Then he pulled himself up in one fluid motion.

Stark spluttered from below. “Duly noted.”

Looking around, The Soldier noticed that there were a number of supplies stocked in the space. Someone else had also discovered the gap in security. He didn’t have to determine if there was a threat when Barton wandered into the room and noticed what was going on.

“Hey! Don’t mess up any of my things,” he called over from where he threw himself down onto one of the couches.

Stark groaned. “You got up there too? What the hell is this, Cirque de Soleil?”

Barton winked at him from his reclined position. “Once a circus freak, always a circus freak, my friend.”

Jerking his chin upwards, Stark raised an eyebrow. “What about My Life as a Teenage Robot over here?”

The Soldier nudged the grate down so that it clanged loudly and fell next to Stark, making him jump. “Was that necessary?” he asked testily.

The Soldier smirked in response and turned his eyes towards where Ms. Potts came into the room followed by a tired looking Steve Rogers. Shallow cuts had torn through the Captain America uniform and his stance was off as he favored his left side. The dark smudges of healing bruises spread across his jaw and he winced when he jostled into the couch to speak to Barton.

“Clint, do you have some of that suture glue around?” the blonde asked, his voice croaky with exhaustion.

Barton gave him two thumbs up and tilted his head to the side towards the grate. “Yo, T-Dub-Yahs. I’ve got some in the medical kit right next to the pistol crossbow.”

The Soldier saw that Rogers had no idea he was up in the vent by the way he stared at Barton in confusion.

He rummaged through the pack to find the glue. The Soldier plucked it out carefully and then slid down from the opening. The Soldier landed softly and replaced the grate he had dropped.

“Exemplary dismount,” Barton complimented, now sprawling his limbs over the entire couch.

Rogers took his sudden appearance with the expected amount of surprise, managing a startled, “Wait, when—,” before he trailed off.

Stark waved off the confusion. “He was here with Pepper. You see the decapitated head? That was his work.”

Pepper smiled at The Soldier. “It was very thoughtful.”

Stark turned to her with a look of utter disbelief and repeated, “Thoughtful?”

She nodded. “He’s a fighter, that’s how he shows he cares. Ripped that guy’s head right off to try and get to me. It was very thoughtful.”

The Soldier pointedly avoided the intense eye contact that Rogers boggled his way at that, as if he was entirely rethinking what all the dead agents in his townhouse signified.

Stark frowned. “Hey, I could decapitate someone for you!” Pepper didn’t look overly impressed. “It’s not even fair, he’s got a metal arm,” Stark added petulantly.

Pepper eyed him skeptically. “You have metal suits. And he used the other arm.”

Everyone stared at The Soldier for a long while after that.

Tony huffed and made a dramatic sweep of his arms. “Fine, whatever.” As he made a big deal of stomping out of the room, he shoved something into The Soldier’s hands.

The Soldier looked down and saw it was a rust colored t-shirt with the Iron Man helmet emblazoned on the front. Pepper grinned at him as he looped it through the band strapped around his chest.

Then The Soldier strode out of the room. He looked back at Rogers and raised the suture glue, jerking his head towards the hall. Rogers quickly followed. The Soldier chose a room on the north end of the Tower and motioned for the blonde to sit down. Rogers watched him with eyes squinted.

When The Soldier gestured to the seat again, the blonde reluctantly sat. “I can take care of this myself,” he said matter-of-factly.

The Soldier didn’t respond, but he reached out on impulse. He brushed a hand to the back of Rogers’ neck, letting his fingers touch the warm skin. A shudder ran through the body beneath his fingers and Rogers tugged down his uniform to show the diagonal gash starting at the top of his right shoulder. The Soldier tamped down the urge to choke whoever caused the injury.

Instead, he reached for a cloth and ran it under warm water. He braced his human hand against Steve’s back, the skin tight and smooth for all that he could feel hard ridges of muscle beneath. The Soldier dragged the cloth against the bloody mess and carefully cleaned the wound. It had already begun healing, but The Soldier still drew perfect lines with the suture glue along the angry, red slash. He rinsed out the cloth and wiped over the cut once more.

The Soldier’s right hand had strayed of its own accord to rest on the curve of Rogers’ shoulder. His thumb pressed lightly against the jut of Rogers’ shoulder blade while his fingers slowly traced unthinking patterns against his collarbone. He dipped the pads of his fingers lower, sliding into the groove of muscle and bone. The Soldier felt the movements of Rogers’ breaths. They remained sure and steady until he pressed his fingers down, dragging against impossibly warm, bare skin.

Then Rogers’ breath came out in a shaky exhale. The sound was so quiet The Soldier barely heard it, but it was a jarring reminder of what he was doing. He quickly drew this hand back and stepped away from Rogers. The man in front of him didn’t turn around, just ducked his head forward, a blush spreading to the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” Rogers said, his voice coming out rough.

The Soldier didn’t fight the urge to draw his fingers carefully down Rogers’ spine as he responded, “You’re welcome.”

Then he shook his head, a physical motion to clear his thoughts. The Solider stepped out of the room and walked briskly down the hall and away from whatever just happened.

He wasn’t sure if he could legitimately count that as information gathering.

•

The Soldier fought back a groan when he saw that Rogers decided today would be a double-run kind of day.

Whenever this happened, Rogers didn’t call Wilson.

This meant The Soldier had to tail him. It was 10:00 PM and The Soldier was running.

Running behind Captain America and trying to avert his eyes from the way Rogers’ sweaty shirt clung to him.

He was absorbed in keeping a respectable distance and not looking at Rogers’ stupidly attractive, sweat-soaked back. Which was how The Winter Soldier missed the signs of Rogers gearing up for an attack. He snapped back to attention when he realized the man in question had whirled around.

The Soldier grabbed Rogers’ fist before it made contact with his face, twisting with the movement of the punch. His other hand shot out to balance Rogers, landing on the man’s sweaty shoulder. Rogers still stumbled, causing The Soldier’s grip to tighten, clamping down on the rolling muscles.

Rogers gave The Soldier a sheepish look once he found steady footing. “Sorry, I heard someone following me. Didn’t realize it was you.”

The Soldier shrugged. He would rather that Rogers react defensively than not notice someone tailing him. At least he still had some self-preservation instincts intact.

A pointed cough drew their attention to where Romanoff stood nearby, an amused expression on her face. “Don’t let me interrupt,” she finally said dryly. Her eyes were on The Soldier’s too tight grasp on Rogers’ shoulder and the fact that he was essentially holding the blonde’s hand, or more accurately, his fist.

The Soldier stepped back, releasing his hold.

The redhead smirked. “So, your scary, stalker situation turned out to be a sweaty, sexy situation.”

Even in the dark, The Soldier could still see the embarrassment flood Rogers’ face. “You told me to stop being ‘a prehistoric drama queen’ about asking for help from the team,” Rogers said with a sigh.

Romanoff nodded. “I did and I’m glad you alerted me.”

The Soldier looked between the two of them, relieved to see proof that Rogers wasn’t charging into every situation like a martyr. Small victories, since most of the time Rogers acted like he had a death wish and keeping him safe had somehow become his primary mission objective.

Romanoff turned a shrewd gaze to The Solider and tossed something his way. He caught a small device with a single button on it. “Push it if you ever need an assist. Team work is all the rage these days,” she told him with a mock-serious tone of voice.

He put the device in his pocket, inclining his head in acknowledgement. That was a kind gesture. Rogers smiled at him brightly. The Soldier raised his eyebrows and looked to Romanoff. “You taking over running duty?”

Romanoff snorted and began to walk away, calling back over her shoulder, “Nice try.”

The Soldier sighed. He really hated running. Almost as much as he hated the hopeful look on Rogers face that meant he would now be running without the saving grace of staring at Rogers’ sweaty shoulders.

He could think of roughly fifty reasons off the top of his head why he deserved such a fate, but he was still disappointed.

Running with the subject was definitely not part of the recon.

•

The Soldier looked down to where his leg was twisted at an angle that likely meant the impact from the fall shattered his femur. Well, shit.

He dragged himself up, using the wall for leverage. His fingers instinctively pushed the tiny button on the device Romanoff had given to him. The Soldier fought back the wave of nausea that threatened to take over as he moved. He steeled himself and used the bricks as a hold to pull himself forward. He’d need twenty minutes without putting weight on his leg before it was semi-functional again.

When he reached the mouth of the alley, the man he had been fighting on the rooftop squared off in front of him. He was real tired of this. The Soldier didn’t waste any time this round and launched a dagger into the man’s throat. He pulled it out as he passed, hauling himself along and clenching his teeth against the pain. He headed to an alcove, only stopping midway to fire the stolen glock he lifted from one of the agents into three operatives who got in his way.

Romanoff showed up when The Soldier found himself debating climbing into the dumpster as a concealment tactic.

She assessed him quickly and dropped down to draw his metal arm around her neck, helping him into a standing position. “What else needs to be done?” she asked, business-like and straight to the point.

The Soldier could taste the metallic tinge of blood as he grit out, “All taken care of.”

She nodded briskly and continued half-dragging him along. Romanoff led him to a sleek car and yanked the door open, helping him into the passenger seat.

Once they were in motion, she shot him a side-eye. “You ever had a fruity pebble doughnut?”

The Soldier frowned. That sounded disgusting. He gave a sharp head shake no.

Romanoff’s mouth twitched upwards at the look on his face. “What about an apple cider doughnut?”

He shook his head no again and she pursed her lips. “There’s a place down on Tine that does half-price doughnuts after 8:00 PM.” It was a statement. Not a question, but The Soldier nodded.

Romanoff looked pleased by his response.

By the time they reached the restaurant, The Soldier’s leg had mended to the point where he could limp his way through a walk. It was only once they got under the fluorescent lighting that The Soldier realized Romanoff must have run interference to get to him. Her jacket was ripped and definitely riddled with bullet holes. He then noted that they were in public while he essentially dragged along a useless leg with blood smeared on his face.

The guy behind the counter stared at them openly.

Then another guy with an apron and an impressive beard bustled out of the kitchen, waving at Romanoff. “Hey, Nat! Got a selection set aside for you. Your regular table is open.”

She ignored the flabbergasted look from the young cashier and directed a smile at the bearded man. “That’s why you’re my favorite, Wes.”

Romanoff headed to a corner booth. It had clear vantage points of all the exits and it was located in the back of the shop. The Soldier sat down heavily and looked across the table while Romanoff glared down a judgmental group of overly curious restaurant patrons.

The bearded chef dropped a plateful of doughnuts on the table and poured two cups of coffee for them before heading back into the kitchen. Romanoff meticulously cut all the doughnuts in half and separated them on the plate, gesturing for him to start in. She stuck a dark brown pastry with purple filling in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully while studying him.

It was quiet as The Soldier sampled each doughnut. Which was nice. He appreciated knowing how dangerous people were right off the bat.

Romanoff was incredibly lethal. He knew it and it made him more comfortable. Plus, she was an ally.

The Soldier picked up another doughnut and took a bite. The slew of flavors were all new to him. He made a face at the lemon coconut, but found himself pleasantly surprised by the maple bacon. Romanoff watched him in approval before washing down a mouthful of doughnut with her coffee.

She cleared her throat. “What are your intentions towards Rogers’ shoulders?” she asked politely.

The Soldier paused with the Oreo crème doughnut halfway to his mouth. That was an oddly specific question. He frowned at her.

She carried on. “I know you have good intentions towards him as a person. Squatting as his vertical neighbor, eliminating threats, showing general concern for his wellbeing. But his shoulders.”

The Soldier stared at her blankly. He wasn’t even sure how to respond to that.

Romanoff took another sip of coffee as her mouth curled up mischievously. “To be honest, I can’t tell if you want to mount his shoulders in your foyer or if you want to mount his shoulders.”

He expelled a surprised grunt, some of the powdered sugar flying off the doughnut in his grasp. The cashier boy had been sweeping the floors nearby and he dropped the broom, clearly eavesdropping. Romanoff gave the boy a cool look and he scrambled to pick up the broom and shuffle away.

The Soldier wasn’t sure what kind of reflection it was on his life that two incredibly intimidating women were strangely invested in his fascination with Steve Rogers’ shoulders.

“Well?” Romanoff prompted. She took a deliberate bite of her pecan hazelnut doughnut, not breaking eye contact.

He continued frowning. “He’s got nice shoulders,” he finally ground out when Romanoff didn’t even blink for a solid six minutes.

She inclined her head. “So he does. What are you going to do about that?”

The Soldier’s frown deepened. “Continue staring at them from afar,” he offered.

Romanoff dragged a hand down her face. “Oh my God,” she muttered with a sigh. “Look, you’ve been staring at them for some time. Even escalated up to the occasion touch. Maybe try using your mouth next time,” she suggested with a devious light behind her eyes.

The Soldier choked on the mouthful of doughnut he had finally taken.

She shrugged at him innocently as he coughed. “Just saying,” the redhead said.

He glared at her over the rim of his coffee cup, finally getting his throat cleared. “Noted,” he informed her sardonically.

Romanoff’s eyes flicked up towards him and she nodded. After she paused to mull something over, most of the lighthearted humor disappeared. “I was Red Room,” she told him after a moment, switching to Russian.

He nodded and responded in kind. “I read your file.”

Her mouth tightened unhappily. “And I’ve read yours.”

Interesting, but not surprising. He wondered if she still had it. If he could have access to the file and to his past. The Soldier waited her out.

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It’ll take time. But you’ll find your way back.”

He stared down at the table. “To Barnes?” he asked bitterly.

She gave a curt headshake. “No, to you.”

The Soldier licked his lips and nodded again. He knew she was attempting to impart wisdom on him, share her own experiences. A bonding exercise. Something companions did to build a friendship. He decided that he didn’t mind.

“Thank you,” he finally said. And he meant it.

She gave him a small, shy smile, one she actually meant too. “I have to tell you though, I really hope you pick a name soon. Tony’s been telling everyone he’s on a first name basis with you.”

The Soldier raised his eyebrows and guessed, “James?”

Romanoff sighed. “Think more obnoxiously.”

He huffed out a disbelieving breath. “The?”

“There you go,” she complimented, pulling off the chocolate sprinkles on her strawberry banana doughnut.

He rolled his eyes. That sounded about right for Stark. She did have a point though. He couldn’t keep going by ‘The Winter Soldier’ all the time. “You can call me Winter,” he told her quietly, after fidgeting with his napkin for a long stretch of silence.

She flashed him a kind smile. “Sounds good.”

Then Romanoff perked up across from him suddenly and he looked around in alarm at the quick motion. She waved off his concern and slid another replica of the small device he activated earlier. “Brought you another, they’re only set for a one-off,” she explained.

The Soldier nodded and took the device, sliding it into his pocket. “Stark’s design?” he asked.

“His design on my request. Barton had a mission in Bhutan and damaged his comms. He was stranded for eleven days. I figured we needed some sort of fall back,” she informed him.

The Soldier inclined his head in understanding. “How’d they find him?” he voiced hesitantly. He was still getting used to speaking more frequently, but knew he needed to practice.

Romanoff rolled her eyes. “He took shelter in an abandoned osprey nest. He was disproportionately thrilled about the situation for someone stuck in the Bhutan wilderness for a week and a half. Some locals finally caught sight of the grown ass man in a literal bird’s nest when they were passing to a nearby village.”

The Soldier’s mouth pulled up into a small smile and she grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

They finished up the plate of doughnuts in companionable silence. Romanoff split her fruity pebble doughnut into quarters to give him more when he realized how surprisingly good it turned out to be.

Wes cleared their dishes and when The Soldier moved to reach for the money supply he regularly replenished from HYDRA safe houses, the man shook his head. “On the house,” Wes said brightly as he vanished behind the counter once more.

He looked to Romanoff in surprise. She shrugged as she slid out of the booth. “Helped him out with a loan shark situation a while back. He’s been very appreciative.”

The Soldier nodded, but dropped a considerable tip on the table to match Romanoff’s. When he stood, his leg had healed to the point where he only walked with a slight gait.

They climbed back into the car and Romanoff shifted to look at him before turning the key. “Seriously though, do something about Rogers’ shoulders.”

The Soldier fought back the urge to smash his head against the dashboard. “I’ll think about it,” he conceded and that seemed to appease her.

“I’m sure you will, Winter,” she said slyly. He debated fleeing the car, but stuck it out, accepting the ride with aplomb despite Romanoff’s knowing looks.

This was definitely not meant to be part of the op. He found he didn’t care.

••

The Soldier stepped outside onto his balcony.

He rested his forearms on the railing and looked out at the sunrise, breathing in the cool morning air. The heat from his coffee cup slowly seeped into his hand, the steam curling up and away. He was waiting for Rogers to head out for his morning run when he heard the unmistakable sound of a clip sliding into place.

The Soldier narrowed into the source of the noise and saw a man in all black raise a rifle.

He let out an irritated noise and put his coffee cup down, waiting until the man lined up his target.

Then he swung down from the balcony, landing on the operative. He wrenched the man’s gun away and used the barrel to strangle him. The agent struggled, making solid contact when he swung his elbow into The Soldier’s mouth. The hit allowed the man to scratch what appeared to be spiked, brass knuckles down The Soldier’s chest. He regretted the decision to walk out onto his balcony in just boxer-briefs.

The Soldier twisted the rifle hard, tight against the man’s throat to cut off his breathing. He waited until the man’s body went limp before letting go. The Soldier looked around, hoping no one had seen what happened. It was still early enough that no one was really around and they were facing the tree line behind the building.

He bent down to pick up the man’s body and get him out of there before Rogers noticed. The Soldier already decided he would drop the guy off on the west-facing stairwell in the Tower for Stark. He needed to correct the angle of a security camera that currently allowed a blind spot.

It was then that The Soldier heard a strange sound. It was familiar, but somewhat unidentifiable.

He lifted his head and saw through the patio door.

Rogers stood in his kitchen, a glass of grapefruit juice clutched tightly in his hands as he gawked. Ah, that was it. That was the noise that The Soldier typically classified as a yelp for Rogers’ sake.

Rogers finally moved closer and slid the door open, his eyes wide. “Are you living above me?” he finally managed to ask after they both stared at each other wordlessly.

“Some of the time,” The Soldier answered, trying to gauge Rogers’ reaction.

Steve didn’t quite seem to know where to look. The man’s blue eyes catalogued the dead agent. Then they scanned over The Soldier, lingering on the bleeding gouges on his chest before skittering up and down, then away.

The Soldier realized it was likely the first time he’d seen Barnes’ old body with the harsh scarring that ran between his torso and the metal arm. “Does it bother you?” he asked when Rogers didn’t do anything besides turn redder and redder.

“I—uh. It’s not. I mean, I suppose it’s only fair because you saw me shirtless. But I was wearing pants,” Rogers babbled nervously and The Soldier realized Rogers thought he was referring to his partial nudity.

Rogers’ first thoughts were focused on his half-nakedness rather than the arm. The Soldier felt that strange warm feeling settle in his chest again. His deformity wasn’t something to focus on for Rogers. However, his undressed state did appear to be something of focus.

He felt a smile pull one side of his mouth upwards and Rogers somehow managed to blush even more.

Then the blonde’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Wait, have you been able to hear me singing in the shower this whole time?”

The Soldier kept his face neutral even though he felt an increasing urge to snort at the horror dawning on Rogers’ face. “I find your rendition of Aretha Franklin’s ‘Respect’ to be your best performance,” he said after a moment of thought.

Rogers groaned in mortification. The Soldier gave the man a fully actualized smile and Rogers inhaled sharply, looking away immediately.

“We should get him inside so no one notices,” Rogers finally croaked out, turning quickly.

The Soldier nodded and lifted the man, pulling him into Rogers’ living room. The blonde looked around his apartment. “I might have something to cover him with until we can get him out of here.”

“I can get a body bag from my place, don’t worry about it,” The Soldier told him absently.

Rogers’ eyebrows drew down as he looked over at The Soldier. “You have a body bag upstairs?”

The Soldier shook his head and corrected the statement. “I have a crate of body bags upstairs. Basic supply,” he said, uncertain how that wasn’t obvious.

“Basic supply,” Rogers repeated faintly, before his gaze seemed to unconsciously drop back to The Soldier’s mostly undressed form.

He felt Rogers’ eyes, a palpable drag as they moved over his chest, tracing the width of his own shoulders and lingering at his hips. He typically didn’t think much of his state of dress or undress, just whether it allowed him to remain unnoticed. Clearly boxer-briefs were not the suitable dressing choice to remain unnoticed. He was somewhat gratified to note that Rogers’ eyes kept landing on his shoulders. Apparently it wasn’t just a problem for him.

The Soldier cleared his throat, and raised his eyebrows.

Rogers jumped. His eyes shot back up to The Soldier’s face, as he flushed in embarrassment once more. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “You’re—,” he trailed off. The Soldier was curious to know what he was, but Rogers seemed to recall he was still holding his grapefruit juice and took a swig.

The Soldier glanced down to see how the scratches were healing, running his hand over his chest to test the raw skin forming over the scratches. He felt Rogers watching him and raised his eyes. The blonde seemed entranced as The Solider carefully skimmed a hand down the center of his chest.

“You alright?” he asked, just to be an asshole.

Rogers’ face scrunched up and he muttered something under his breath as he quickly averted his gaze again.

The Soldier took the opportunity to look at Rogers’ own apparel. The man was wearing running shorts and an impossibly form-fitting, long sleeved running thermal that molded to his body. The Soldier’s throat felt dry and suddenly he could only think of Romanoff urging him to use his mouth.

He tore his eyes away. It didn’t stop the phantom taste of salty skin, hot to the touch, resting on his tongue.

The Soldier realized he needed to get a move on if that was where his thoughts were going. His underwear wouldn’t provide much help to hide the impending situation. When he looked over again, he saw Rogers had been watching him thoughtfully. His gaze was dark and offering something unspoken that made chills break out over The Soldier’s skin.

A knock on the door startled them both.

Rogers moved to answer the door and Wilson stepped in, doing a lunge or two across the threshold.

“You ready?” he asked as he jumped up and down in place.

Then he caught sight of The Soldier. “Uh, Steve. Dude’s in his underwear,” he said slowly, like maybe that wasn’t clear.

Rogers nodded and sounded somewhat pained as he responded, “I noticed.”

Wilson gave a ‘what the hell’ look to Rogers. “You could have cancelled. I’d understand, man. You know what, I’m just going to let myself out.”

The Soldier watched in amusement as Rogers’ eyes filled with panic. “No! No, it’s fine.”

The Soldier stepped in to help him out. “I’ve got to get to the Tower anyways. If you wait while I grab a body bag upstairs, I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out of the patio door then realized he forgot to inform them of his preferred moniker. The Soldier stuck his head back inside. “Oh, and you can call me Winter.”

Wilson looked surprised, but happy to hear the abrupt announcement. “Sure thing, man.”

Rogers was definitely thrown off, but he flashed The Soldier a smile and nodded his agreement.

The Soldier went back out onto the balcony, climbing up to his townhouse. He tugged on a pair of sweatpants and the Iron Man shirt with a pair of tennis shoes. Then he tucked a body bag under his arm and locked up, approaching Rogers’ apartment from the front door this time. When he knocked, The Soldier heard Wilson and Rogers stop talking immediately.

Wilson pulled the door open and motioned him inside. He eyed the shirt with a smirk. “An Iron Man shirt? Really?”

The Soldier shrugged. “I’m repenting. And it’s soft.” Wilson snorted.

Rogers let out a measured exhale and began to walk backwards out of the room. “Let me just get my running shoes on and then we can all head out.”

He fled the room and Wilson shook his head. “So, did something happen? Or is he just all a flutter because you’re fine as hell and he doesn’t know what to do with himself?”

The Soldier shrugged. “Nothing happened. Except that,” he said gesturing to the dead agent. He moved his way over and maneuvered the guy into the bag.

Wilson’s eyes lingered on the zipped up canvas. “Figures. Man, you got to do something about this. I don’t need to go running for exercise, I could stay here and literally swim through all this unresolved sexual tension.”

The Soldier huffed before telling him. “Not part of my recon.”

Wilson gave him an unimpressed up down. “Then add it to the list, Winter.”

He felt a small thrill that Wilson used the name he chose. He was glad he took Romanoff’s advice.

Rogers came back into the room when Wilson suddenly frowned. He gestured to the ceiling as he asked, “Hold up, you finally told him you’re living upstairs?”

The startled expression on Rogers’ face was endearing. “You knew?”

Wilson sighed gustily. “Really, Steve? Oh shit, I think this means Stark won the pot.”

The Soldier shook his head. “Barton won. His conditions were that Rogers would figure it out, but only because it was incredibly obvious at that point.”

Wilson raised a revelatory finger at The Soldier. “You’re right. Wait, how the hell did you know that?”

The Soldier shrugged unhelpfully.

Rogers squinted between them and frowned. “Everyone knew?”

Wilson shot The Soldier a commiserating look and he found himself responding with a slight upturn of lips. Maybe The Soldier could extend the parameters of his recon a little more.

The Avengers were passable company.

••

Stark had told him he could use the Tower’s training gym whenever he wanted.

The Soldier often went at 3:00 AM because no one else was around and it left him enough time to get back before Rogers went on his morning run.

“Hey, JARVIS,” The Soldier greeted as he set the course for long-range endurance. He needed to increase his stamina if he was going to be expected to run on a regular basis and not just sprint away from explosions or across rooftops. This long distance running was really getting to him.

“Hello, Winter. Fine morning for some endurance training,” The A.I. responded pleasantly.

The Soldier snorted and took a drink from his water bottle before starting the course. Half an hour later while tumbling over a barrel obstacle, he heard the door open.

Rogers stopped in surprised when he saw the gym being used, but he hadn’t spotted The Soldier yet from where he rolled over the cylinder.

“Hello, JARVIS,” Rogers greeted as he set down his bag, then pulled out hand wrap and starting to wind it carefully.

“Hello, Captain,” the A.I. responded, somehow sounding amused.

The Soldier got to his feet and offered his own greeting. “Hey, Rogers,” he said as he pulled his sweaty hair back into a ponytail.

Rogers’ head snapped up at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Winter.”

The Soldier took in the white muscle tank that Rogers wore and suppressed a sigh. It was like he was intentionally flaunting his shoulders. The blonde turned his attention back to wrapping his hands.

“Did you want to spar?” Rogers asked. It sounded casual, but The Soldier saw the tension strumming through the blonde’s body. The Soldier considered the offer. Rogers was a super soldier and certainly an equal on the field. They were in a safe environment and it would present a challenge, why not.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

The Soldier turned off the obstacle course and went to take another drink of water. Rogers bit his lip to tamp down a smile, but The Soldier had already seen it. He let Rogers choose the mat. They end up on the high impact, red lined mat. Rogers wiggled his fingers. He shook out his arms and crossed them loosely back and forth several times.

The Soldier kept his eyes centered, refusing to watch the roll of the man’s shoulders.

He lowered his center of gravity and circled his neck out before assuming a ready position. Rogers moved quickly, throwing a series of punches that the Soldier ducked. He kicked at Rogers’ legs and drew back when the blonde twisted closer to him. His recoil didn’t get him out of range and Rogers locked a grip around his calves, pulling to drag The Soldier down.

The Soldier hit the mat, arching his back on impact to immediately launch back to his feet.

Rogers did a backwards somersault, moving away from him to regain his footing. The Soldier smirked, his adrenaline starting to spike. He jogged backwards before he lowered his body to a 45-degree angle, throwing himself forward with his hands braced on the ground and pivoting his lower body through the space like a piston. Rogers was fast enough to draw back, but not fast enough to avoid The Soldier grounding his right leg and turning sharply to tackle him around the waist.

Rogers took the hit and rolled on impact, shifting to drive a hand forward and pin The Soldier to the ground.

Wiggling to change the angle of his hips, The Soldier swung his legs up, wrapping them around Rogers’ torso. He crossed them tighter, getting leverage to lean forward. Rogers rocked backwards, throwing him off balance and rolling out of the hold.

Before he could stand, The Soldier launched forward into a front handspring, clamping his hands onto Rogers’ shoulders for grounding. He didn’t release Rogers as he came out of the flip, instead pulling him up along with the momentum.

Rogers drove an arm into his breastbone to break the hold and then bodily lifted The Soldier up, throwing him backwards and driving down with an elbow into his solar plex. The Soldier felt the air get knocked from his chest with the motion and drove a heel into Rogers’ rib cage in response, dropping into a kickover to get to his feet. Rogers jumped up, brushing his hands off.

They circled each other deliberately. The Soldier could hear their labored breathing, loud in the quiet room.

Rogers slid forward on his knees, arms extended where the invisible shield would be, to deliver a shot to the back of The Soldier’s calf.

The Soldier dodged the next blow with an aerial cartwheel over Rogers’ head. When he landed, he drew back and drove a flat palm into Rogers’ upper thigh. The blonde hunched forward instinctively and The Soldier kicked him in the middle of the chest. Rogers went tumbling backwards, turning quickly to sweep his legs around in a wide circle and catching The Soldier in the pass.

He swung at Rogers, punching him across the jaw and getting him with his elbow. Rogers grunted, bending to draw himself upwards quickly.

The Soldier stumbled before he drew himself to his feet. When he dove for Rogers, fist drawn back, the man turned away from the blow into a handstand flip. The Soldier reached for him, but at this point there was blood from an unknown source making his hands slippery and Rogers’ skin was slick with sweat. The Soldier grabbed a handful of Rogers’s shirt to draw him in.

“That’s cheating,” Rogers huffed at The Soldier who smirked in response. The blonde laughed and pulled out of the hold, then tugged the shirt up over his head.

The Soldier stepped back in surprise, his eyes instantly dropping to the expanse of skin.

Rogers’ chest was heaving from exertion and his golden skin glistened with sweat. His stomach muscles tightened as he shifted and The Soldier tried to regain his focus. Rogers swung his arms wide, loosening the tension from his shoulders. The Soldier knew he was in trouble. He resumed his fighting stance, but Rogers turned his back to him, a glint in his eyes before he faced the opposite wall.

The Soldier frowned in confusion before he noticed Rogers crack his neck and deliberately roll his body out, drawing extra attention to his shoulders.

“Ready when you are,” Rogers said mildly, still facing away from The Soldier.

The little shit was doing this on purpose.

The Soldier narrowed his eyes before pulling his own sweaty shirt off and tossing it aside. He moved quickly, but Rogers heard the approach and spun, delivering a high kick to the side of The Soldier’s head that made his ears ring. He grabbed Rogers’ foot and twisted. Rogers moved with the motion, twirling midair to avoid a fracture and using his other foot to kick at The Soldier’s grasp.

When he backed up, Rogers let his own gaze drop to The Soldier’s bare chest. “Even footing,” The Soldier said.

Rogers lifted his eyes back up to The Soldier’s and nodded, but he saw the hard swallow rippling through Rogers’ throat.

When Rogers delivered a sidekick, he drove The Soldier downwards with a hard shove. The Soldier shifted so he could wrap his right leg around Roger’s left and press down. Once he got hold of Rogers’ ankle he turned, rolling them forward. He realized abruptly that having Rogers’ wet, hot back muscles pressed fully against him was a poor tactical decision when his functional thought processes fizzled out at the contact.

Rogers arched his shoulders, the muscles tight against The Soldier’s chest. The Soldier bit down on the gasp that wanted to escape at the sensation. He abruptly released Rogers and rolled back to his feet.

The sudden movement disoriented Rogers, but he darted forward. He shot a hand out to rest against The Soldier’s abdomen, swinging his left leg upwards and his right one parallel around The Soldier’s legs before he threw his weight backwards. The Soldier went down and was surprised when the noise that escaped his mouth was a laugh.

He let his head fall back against the mat and closed his eyes for a moment. The Soldier found he was enjoying himself. That wasn’t part of the mission parameters either.

Rogers nearly gave himself whiplash at how quickly he turned to look at The Soldier.

The blonde loosened his hold and sat back, breathing heavily with a wide smile. The Soldier couldn’t recall seeing this particular smile on Rogers’ face before. It was bright and content and it made him ache.

He pulled himself up on his elbows, watching contemplatively as Rogers let out a pleasantly exhausted sigh and took a swig of water.

The Soldier decided now was as good a time as any to take unsolicited advice.

If he was going to extend his parameters to include himself, he might as well do as he was told. The Soldier got to his knees and used his left hand to guide Rogers to the mat. The blonde went easily with the motion, allowing The Soldier’s touch to direct him downwards.

The Soldier looked at the man beneath him, noting the fast thrum of his pulse point and the way his eyes darted around The Soldier’s face. What he noticed above all else was the challenge in Rogers jaw, tilted up defiantly and egging him on. The Soldier drew his fingers down Rogers’ shoulders before firmly straddling his hips.

“Good?” The Soldier asked.

Rogers made a soft noise, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed up into him.

“Good,” he confirmed.

The Soldier leaned down, dragging his lips down the column of Rogers’ neck. Tasting the sweat clinging to his skin, The Soldier noted it was just as he had imagined. Rogers’ skin was hot and slick under his mouth as he flitted his tongue out in the drag.

Rogers let out a startled moan at the contact and The Soldier unconsciously gripped his shoulders tighter, continuing the path down the man’s neck. He looked up to gauge Rogers’ reaction and saw the blonde breathing erratically, his eyes dark. He smirked before bringing his mouth against Rogers’ shoulder.

The Soldier dragged open-mouthed kisses across the curve of muscle, exploring the ridges with the flat of his tongue. Rogers groaned beneath him and The Soldier felt lightheaded with the taste of Rogers’ skin. He gently closed his teeth around the rounded part of Rogers shoulder where corded bands of muscle shifted. Rogers made a shocked noise and The Soldier experimentally added pressure to the careful placement of teeth.

The sound that ripped from Rogers’ throat was desperate and raw. “Please,” he begged softly.

The Soldier wasn’t sure what he wanted him to do, but he nodded. The Soldier drew his human hand up to grasp Rogers’ other shoulder as he ground his hips down, pressing their erections together. He reached down between them to shimmy out of his shorts and help Rogers to shove his own out of the way.

The first slide of bare skin had The Soldier gasping, his metal hand clenched hard on Rogers’ shoulder.

He forced himself to relax and release his grip, watching the bruises from his fingers fade away. The Winter Soldier wanted to kiss Captain America.

He shifted his hand to turn Rogers’ face towards him. The blonde smiled at him as he leaned in to press their lips firmly together. Rogers threaded his hands into The Soldier’s hair and tugged him closer, sighing into the kiss. He opened his mouth in response when Rogers pressed a tentative tongue against his lips and groaned at the wet heat. He jerked his hips down, sliding against Rogers slowly, in sync with the soft press of Rogers’ tongue in his mouth.

“I like your shoulders,” The Soldier slurred when they drew back to breath.

Rogers’ kiss swollen lips pulled upwards. “I know.”

The Soldier kissed him again, hard and desperate before pressing his forehead against Rogers’. “I think I love you,” he said faintly, but entirely certain of the statement.

Rogers traced a hand down the side of The Soldier’s face, meeting his eyes. “Yeah?”

He pulled him back down, kissing him deep and open mouthed, before speaking quietly into The Soldier’s ear. “I think I love you too.”

The Soldier smiled against Rogers’ mouth before resuming their earlier position, both of his hands tight around Steve’s shoulders while they lazily rutted against each other.

He carefully unwound the hand wrap so he could feel Rogers’ bare hands against him. Then The Soldier kissed Rogers breathless, rolling his hips more insistently until Steve was an unintelligible mess. He licked a stripe down the juncture of Rogers’ neck, before sinking his teeth into his shoulder.

“Oh fuck, Winter,” Rogers moaned, his hips jerking up helplessly. The Soldier pushed Rogers’ right shoulder down to the mat, pinning him still as he drove his hips down over and over, biting into his shoulder harder. Rogers shuddered, his entire body tensing as he came with a soft exhale into The Soldier’s neck.

He let his head fall back after he caught his breath again. “Wow.”

The Soldier raised his eyebrows and Rogers blinked dazedly at him. He moved a hand down between them. The Soldier groaned at the touch, mouth falling open with shocked gasps of pleasure when Rogers began to pump his hand. Rogers caught his mouth, kissing him softly.

A reassurance, a promise.

The Soldier thrust up into his fist, overwhelmed. He came when Rogers kissed him sweetly with his other hand tangled in The Soldier’s hair.

After they cleaned up the mat and rinsed off, The Soldier slung his gym bag on, following after Rogers.

When they rounded the corner it was to see Wilson and Romanoff sitting in the dark. The Soldier inclined his head towards Wilson.

“This is creepy,” he pointed out dryly.

Wilson grinned. “I know! Look at us, picking up each other’s habits already.”

Natasha just smirked while Rogers looked at his friends in surprise, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “It’s 4:30 in the morning. Sam, you weren’t even at the Tower tonight.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “Nat said I had to get here because you two finally figured your shit out.”

She crossed her arms smugly. “And I won the bet.”

Wilson grumbled and Steve looked dismayed. “Wait, what bet? You made another one?”

The Soldier shook his head at Natasha. “You didn’t win. Peggy did.”

Rogers’ mouth fell open in shock. “What?”

He shrugged, passing by Steve to drop his empty water bottle at the weak point of access along the windowsill for Stark.

Natasha laughed while Sam tried to talk Steve down as he just kept repeating variations of “What?” in different tones of exasperation.

The Soldier shook his head and when the warm sensation flooded his chest, he let it happen.

He figured allowing another amendment to the mission parameters hardly mattered at this point since he had already made so many others.

••

The Soldier nodded at the front desk and headed back to her room.

The nurse from last time was just leaving and from the way she snickered, she definitely still remembered him.

He walked in, uncertain what state Peggy would be in. She clicked through the television stations looking very unhappy with the available programming. He cleared his throat and she turned to look at him.

Peggy remained silent for a few moments before a smile crossed her face. “About time, I was wondering what was taking so long.”

The Soldier shrugged and took the seat at her bedside. Peggy waved a hand at him. “Well?” The Soldier paused for a moment, before pulling his phone out of his pocket and flipping to a picture to show her.

She clapped her hands up to her eyes. “I don’t need proof!”

The Soldier snorted and waited until the curiosity wore her down and she peeked.

It was a picture of a shirtless Steve in the kitchen making scrambled eggs. The morning light was streaming in, casting shadows against the angles of his back. His shoulders looked particularly ridiculous. The Soldier had been pleased with his photography skills.

Peggy shook her head with a small smile. “You know he came in just last week and had a picture of you to show me. He sketched it. You’re napping in the middle of the floor on a big rug.”

The Soldier ran an embarrassed hand down his face.

“You did good, kid,” she told him fondly.

He ducked his head, diverting her attention by pulling out the deck of cards. It only distracted her until she organized her hand.

“But you have to tell me. Did you get your legs over those shoulders? Was it all anyone could hope for?”

The Soldier huffed out a horrified noise and tried to start the game.

“Don’t disappoint an old lady,” Peggy chastised.

The Soldier hid behind his cards before he sighed and peeked out at her. “It’s better,” he finally admitted.

She crowed, and settled back against her pillows looking smug. “I knew it,” she said, tapping a finger to her lips.

He shuffled the remaining cards in the deck and casted Peggy an affectionate glance as she criticized his technique. The Soldier tucked his phone away, glancing at the picture once more.

These new recon parameters were a definite improvement.


End file.
